


like real people do

by starscry



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Eventual Fluff, Illustrations, M/M, Mentions of Astrid, Spoilers up to episode 25!!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-30
Updated: 2018-06-30
Packaged: 2019-05-30 18:14:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,804
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15102242
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starscry/pseuds/starscry
Summary: Being in such close quarters with Mollymauk, with only the four of the them travelling together and fewer others to keep them from each other, is terrible, really, for Caleb’s health.[ spoilers for episode 25 of campaign 2. ]





	like real people do

They’re gone. 

Jester, Fjord, Yasha. Gone, without a trace, as if they’d been magicked into thin air. 

Caleb awakens to empty bedrolls, belongings left behind, signs of a struggle – clawed-up mud, uprooted grass, a spattering of blood upon the ground – littering the nearby meadow. Wagon tracks that lead in, out, then vanish into the well-worn main roadway, wheel-grooves mingled indecipherably in with those of the plethora of carts and caravans that have gone by.

It feels, inexplicably, like a piece of himself has been lost. Albeit a small one, but it’s gone nonetheless. Jester, Fjord, Yasha – they’d brought a bit of light to his dim life over the past month and then some that he’d spent travelling with them. Some light, some friendship, even some laughter.

Gone.

\- - -

He, Nott, Beauregard, and Mollymauk manage to keep themselves together. The party is much smaller, seems a bit more dismal, but they keep themselves together for the sakes of their friends. Caleb knows that Mollymauk and Beauregard are hit harder by the losses than he and Nott are or could ever be; Molly has known Yasha for nearly the entirety of his conscious life, and she has been his closest friend and confidant for that span. Beau, for as long as he can remember since meeting them, has been with Fjord and Jester. He knows they grieve, privately, in their own ways, but put on stern faces and resolve to track down the missing members of their party.

They’re still on a tight timeline for The Gentleman, and none of them want to lose out on the potential bonus payment that had been offered, so they make their way to Shady Creek Run, always alert for any clues on the road that might lead them to the others. The outlaw town seems as good a place as any to ask around, look for information, so their errand coincides perfectly with their hunt; they finish it in a timely manner, then turn to the local taverns, shops, and inns, grilling townsfolk and putting down whatever money they must to squeeze some talk out of the folk.

Together, they manage to scrape together a few potential leads – thugs, a man with tattoos, a caravan of cages seen heading east to Rexxentrum. Quiet word of a slaver collecting _interesting_ wares from around the Empire, shipping them to the capital for an underground auction. Nobody seems to know when; nobody seems to know _where_ , in all of Rexxentrum, it might happen. It’s enough, though, for them.

They set out on the heels of whispered words and _maybes_ to the Empire’s capital.

\- - -

Being in such close quarters with Mollymauk, now, with only the four of them travelling together and fewer others to keep them from eachother, is terrible, really, for Caleb’s health.

If he’s being entirely honest with himself, he’s been avoiding Mollymauk for as long as he has been able to because of a small _problem_ the tiefling has saddled him with. It’s stupid. Caleb hates it, hates that he’s _human_ and entirely subject to the whims of his body and his emotions, hates that, over the weeks they’ve spent together, he’s found himself more and more drawn to Mollymauk. 

Molly has a sort of irresistible charm, a flirtatiousness that draws Caleb in and spits him out with flushed cheeks and stuttered sentences and a burning sensation in the pit of his stomach. It’s been too long since he’s felt this way with anyone, and he knows that _now_ , of all times, is the most inopportune moment for his little crush to grow, but he’s unable to help it or the circumstances. He finds that Mollymauk is an incredibly social creature, and without Yasha here to distract him, Caleb becomes Molly’s new object of conversational interest. He talks and talks with few cares, and Caleb is content to simply listen because he finds his ability to speak coherently goes out the window when Molly is around, grinning and laughing and touching him as they walk close to eachother. 

Caleb tries to avoid Mollymauk when he can, really, and he does a decent enough job of it. He’s slipped up, before – recalls calling Mollymauk _magical_ down in the Gearhold, then cursing himself after coming to fully-healed consciousness, and resolving to keep his hands to himself and _off_ Mollymauk’s cheeks. So, he takes night watches with Nott and sticks to riding one of the horses so he doesn’t have to be too close to the cart, which Mollymauk typically helms when they travel. He goes to bed early, doesn’t spend time down in the taverns at night drinking his sorrows into his cups with the others because he knows how he gets when he’s drunk, knows that his inhibitions and self-constructed walls tend to falter and fall. 

He reminds himself, every time Mollymauk makes his chest burn, of how his last relationship ended. 

He hasn’t – there’s been nobody since Astrid. He hasn’t _let_ there be anybody since Astrid. It’s been years, and Caleb has no idea what to even _do_ in this situation; he feels hopelessly awkward (not entirely out of the norm for him, but _still_ ) and awkwardly hopeless, because why would Mollymauk ever like him back? The tiefling is a relentless flirt, but he’s that way with everybody. Caleb’s not special. Never will be. So he tries his best to quash this crush before it can blossom into anything larger, anything that might begin to toe the line of unrequited love because he _knows_ it will never be more than that. There’s been nobody since Astrid, and there will never be anybody else, because why would there be? Why _should_ there be? 

Why would anyone – _especially_ someone bright and charming and full of passion for the world like Mollymauk – want the company of a repulsive person like Caleb? That single thought reigns over all, and he realizes he’ll forever be bound to this contradiction – wanting love but knowing he, with his sinner’s soul and murderous hands, does not deserve that love he so yearns for. 

So, he thinks of Astrid, thinks of licking flames and splintering wood and trapped hands pressed to smoke-fogged windows, the memory seared to the insides of his eyelids, and he doesn’t think of whatever this _thing_ is with Mollymauk. The love Caleb was once unafraid to give freely guttered like dying coals within his being years ago, on that night, with the rest of himself; nobody – _not even Molly_ , he thinks – would care enough to love the ashes that are left.

\- - -

They retire at a small roadside inn a day’s trudge from Shady Creek Run, soaked down to their underclothes by the outside storm and ready to pay whatever necessary for a warm place to sleep and a hot meal. Crapper and Toilet are un-yoked from the cart and tied up for the night alongside Loo, John, W.C., and Loaf in a stable that looks as if it were hastily built against the side of the inn as an afterthought, with a noticeable left-lean, rotting hay upon the ground, and several un-patched holes leaking water directly into the stalls and onto the poor horses. Beau ties their tarp down tight over the valuables in the cart and Caleb, with shivering fingers, runs his silver thread around it in a habitual motion.

Mollymauk puts down the coin for two rooms for the night, and Caleb quickly volunteers himself and Nott to take one of the rooms before anyone can say otherwise. He heads upstairs with their things, draws a flicker of fire to a fingertip and lights the candles in the room, and promptly locks himself inside while the others set to, he assumes, drinking downstairs.

 

Caleb is deep into his thoughts, sitting crosslegged on his bed and carefully scribing a spell onto one of his precious few pieces of parchment, when several quick, successive raps against his door startle him from his reverie. 

“Come in,” he calls.

The door swings open, and Caleb is surprised to find Mollymauk behind it, leaning against the doorframe with two dark, green-tinted glass bottles in his arms. His eyes narrow, and he sets the parchment aside to dry on the nightstand beside his bed, placing the inkwell and feather pen he’d been using to script the spell atop it to ensure it doesn’t budge. “Mollymauk,” Caleb says, evident surprise lacing his tone. “Can I help you?”

“Just thought I’d stop by and grace you with my presence for a bit,” Mollymauk replies smoothly. He crosses the threshold of the room and, before Caleb can fully register what is happening, seats himself on the bed beside Caleb, one leg dangling off and the other crossed over it. Molly slides one of the bottles between his thighs, the other extended in Caleb’s direction.

Caleb eyes it warily for a moment, then reaches over to take it, fingertips brushing against Molly’s. He peers down the neck of the bottle; the liquor inside has a dark, curiously blue-ish tint to it. “What.. is it?”

“No idea,” Molly chirps, taking a swig from his own bottle and wrinkling his nose a moment later. “Just asked the barkeep for two bottles of the best of whatever they had in the house. She gave me this. Said is was a _secret recipe_.” He emphasizes the words with air quotes, a sarcastic flair to them. “Not sure I’d be too keen to know whatever the hell it is they put in it.”

Caleb brings the bottle to his nose, takes a sniff, and scrunches his face at the mixed scents of heavy, biting alcohol and a rather pungent odor that he can’t place. 

Seeming to have taken notice of Caleb’s reaction, Molly pipes up once more, “Try it. Tastes better than it smells, I promise. It’s got a bit of a kick, but it’s not the worst thing I’ve ever had.”

“I suppose..” Caleb trails off. He steels himself, takes a cautious sip, and quickly swallows it; the liquor burns going down and tastes like a mixture of shitty vodka and too many spices. It’s not revolting, but the overpowering kick of it makes Caleb cough a bit as it goes down.

“Good?”

“It is certainly––” he pauses, not sure if he’d call the drink _good_ but not repulsed enough to call it _bad_ , “––um. Alcohol.”

Mollymauk shrugs good-naturedly. “Can’t argue with that,” he replies. Settling in on top of the bed and making himself comfortable, he leans back against the wall that Caleb’s small bed is pushed up against, glancing around the small room. Caleb follows his gaze to the few objects present – a small wooden table with two wicker chairs tucked into it and several lit candles casting a soft glow around them, the room’s other bed, shoved up against the wall opposite Caleb’s, and nightstands placed next to each bed, Caleb’s currently populated by his drying spell-sheet and another candle. It’s sparse, but functional; Caleb gets the sense that Molly hasn’t cared enough to see his own room, yet, undoubtedly only having spent a quick moment inside setting his own things down before heading to the downstairs bar. 

“Did you just stop by to bring me booze?” Caleb asks, letting his legs slide down and hang off the bed and mimicking Mollymauk’s posture, back pressed to the wall. “That was.. nice of you.”

“Mm, not just to bring you booze. Thought you could use a little bit of company. You’ve kept yourself cooped up ‘n away from everyone every night since we left Hupperdook. Are you all right?”

He purses his lips, avoids Mollymauk’s eyes. “I am fine, _ja_. I have just been trying to– you know, make sure I am prepared and have spells ready, in case whoever took Jester and Fjord and Yasha decide to come back. For the rest of us.”

“We’ve all been doing that, dear. The rest of us have still found time to unwind. C’mon, put the spells away and drink for a night; it’ll be good for your health.”

Caleb sighs, resigned. For all he’s been trying to avoid Mollymauk and forget about his little.. _crush_ , it seems he’s destined to never quite be able to escape it. He supposes that he can stand to humor Molly a bit – at least until the other man inevitably gets bored of him and decides to leave for more _fun_ company downstairs. 

“Fine,” he concedes, staring down at his bottle. “Fine, _ja_ , I’ll drink for a little while.”

“Great!” Molly grins, claps his hands together. “Knew you’d come around. Anyhow, I thought we could, y’know, play a little game. Make things a bit more fun than just sitting and drinking.”

“Game?” Caleb asks. His brows knit, and he’s suddenly unsure that agreeing to drink with Molly was such a good idea (and knows, without thinking much about it, that it likely wasn’t; but he’s locked himself into this social situation and he’ll be damned if he backs out now). “What sort of, ah, game were you thinking?”

“Something light. Nothing like the Hour of Honor, no contests or stakes. We used to play it at the circus pretty often, just to pass the time and relax a bit – it’s called ‘never have I ever.’”

“I cannot say I have heard of it.”

“Mm. Doesn’t surprise me.” Molly grins at him, a friendly twinkle in his eyes. “You’ve never struck me as much of a social person, and this is a more.. social game.”

“What are the rules?”

“It’s easy. You say ‘never have I ever’ and just... finish the statement. That simple. If it’s something you’ve done, you drink; if you haven’t done it, you don’t drink. It’s a get-to-know-you sort of game.”

It sounds, to Caleb, like a terrible-life-decision game on his own part, having to indulge in alcohol _and_ expose facts about himself to the tiefling – something he’s been adamantly trying to avoid doing in order to keep himself from falling deeper into the pit of his little… _predicament._ And, yet, he _wants_ to play, because he’s still so curious about Mollymauk, wants to know more about him, his likes, his dislikes, what sorts of things he’s done in life, what makes him smile, and –– _fuck_ , Caleb thinks, he’s already in too deep. There are _reasons_ , rational, sane reasons he’s been making sure he and Mollymauk haven’t ended up on the same watch together at night, forced to spend hours side-by-side and veritably alone with one another, but he’s known that he can’t avoid it forever. Maybe, possibly, if he confronts his problem head-on and spends some time with Molly, he’ll get this little crush out of his system, move on with his life, and he’ll be better for it. Less distracted. Stop chasing after false hope and little moments of odd intimacy, pats to the cheek and kisses on the forehead and arms slung around his shoulders. He’ll throw caution to the wind for one night, one game, and get over it.

“ _Ja_ ,” he replies, bobbing his head. “All right. That sounds.. simple.”

“Isn’t it?” Mollymauk agrees. He curls his fingers around the neck of his bottle. “I’ll start, then. Never have I ever… owned a pet.”

“Really? Never?” Caleb asks, curious. 

Mollymauk shrugs. “Haven’t had any interest in it. I mean, I like animals well enough and I’d like to _think_ they like me, but having to take care of something, feed it, keep tabs on it… Seems like too much of a chore. I’ve had enough on my plate with the circus and you lot.”

“Hm.” Caleb’s eyes flicker to Frumpkin, who lays upon the other bed in the room, loafed and sleeping. 

“And, now, my dear, you get to drink – because I _know_ you’ve owned a pet.” Mollymauk’s eyes follow Caleb’s, flickering to stare at Frumpkin’s softly-breathing form for a moment before focusing back on his wizard’s face.

“Ah. _Ja_ , right, right.” Caleb’s fingers wrap around the neck of his bottle and he lifts it to his lips, taking a decently-sized swig of liquor and managing to swallow it down without coughing, this time. “It is my turn, now?”

“That it is.”

“Right. Okay.” His lips purse, and he lets his eyes rove over Mollymauk’s relaxed form, mind flitting through potential _never-have-I-ever_ s. “Never have I ever… ah, gotten a tattoo?”

Mollymauk lets out a breathy laugh, eyes rolling. “That one’s cheating, y’know,” he says, taking a drink of his own liquor. Caleb offers a small, sheepish smile, eyes tracing the peacock feather tattoo up Molly’s enticing neck and over the curve of his chin to where it curls to an end upon his cheek. 

“Right, then. My turn.” He taps his chin and hums as if in deep thought, but the grin that deviously curves his lips belies him, and Caleb gets the sense that he already knows what he’s going to say. “Never have I ever gone more than a week without a bath.”

Caleb frowns. “I have my reasons,” he mutters, but takes the requisite drink all the same, resigned.

“Oh, I would _love_ to hear those,” Mollymauk replies. He crooks a knee and places an elbow atop it, chin perched in his cupped hand and that damned grin still spread wide on his face as he gazes at Caleb. 

“People do not pay attention to beggars. You draw less attention if you are unclean than you do if you look…” he trails off, waving a hand in Mollymauk’s general, ostentatious direction as if to say _like that_.

“Easier said than done. It’s much harder for _some_ of us to not draw attention. People still look twice at purple-skinned, horned beggars.”

“Well..”

Mollymauk waves a dismissive hand. “Anyhow, clean is a good look on you. I thought you looked quite dashing when Pumat magicked away all that grime.” He smiles. “But you’re handsome with the grime, too. I’m into the whole.. rustic vibe.”

“Oh.” Caleb scratches the back of his neck, ducks his head, tries to hide the flush that he can feel rising to his cheeks. “Thank you.”

“Mm. Your turn, now.”

“Yes – okay. Yes.” He hums in momentary thought. “Never have I ever seen the ocean.”

“Never?” Mollymauk exclaims, as if the entire notion of not having seen the sea is preposterous to him. 

“I have never had a chance to. Some day, perhaps, I might.”

“Well, once we have the other three back, we’ll have to take a celebratory trip to the Menagerie Coast and rectify that immediately. You’d love the coast – it’s beautiful. Peaceful.”

“Is it?”

“Mmhm,” Mollymauk nods. “The circus had a brief stint there, travelling up and stopping at towns along the way. Some of the best weeks of my life.”

Caleb gazes at him, takes in the way Mollymauk’s face creases when he smiles, reminiscent, the tiny lines at the edges of his eyes and the hint of teeth that gleam between his lips. “Yasha and I would wake up early, before we had to start prepping for the day’s show, and go sit out on the shore in the mornings. She loved to wait for the waves to roll in – she’d stick her hand in the sand and catch sand crabs before they could burrow down, then let them go..”

Mollymauk trails off, the smile slowly falling from his face. Caleb wants to reach out, to put his hand upon Molly’s and tell him that things will be okay, that they’ll find Yasha and Jester and Fjord and they’ll all go to the coast together. He doesn’t. He sits, watches Molly’s happiness turn dour, and clutches his bottle tight.

“Anyway,” Molly murmurs, shaking his head as if trying to rid himself of the sadness that has washed over him like ocean water. “Guess it’s my turn, then. Never have I ever… skinny dipped.”

Caleb takes a slow, reluctant drink, and avoids Mollymauk’s gaze when he hears a chuckle sound from the other man.

“Really? I’m shocked, Caleb – you didn’t peg me as the type.”

“I was very.. different, when I was younger,” he mutters.

Mollymauk grins, raises his own bottle to his lips and takes a drink, and Caleb feels slightly betrayed. “‘Course I have,” he says, noticing Caleb’s strong side-eye. “I just wanted to know if _you_ had.”

“Never have I ever. Um. Danced on a table.. or a bar.” Caleb decides to nip Mollymauk’s line of questioning about his skinny dipping escapades in the bud, quickly moving onto the next question.

Molly, predictably, takes a drink with pride. “It’s a good time, dancing on top of things. You should try it.”

“I think I would prefer to keep my feet on the ground.”

“Maybe Drunk Caleb might see things differently.” Mollymauk waggles his eyebrows. “Hm. Never have I ever danced with Jester.”

Caleb drinks to that. As smashed as he’d been that night, he still very much remembers that dance and the words that had slipped out of his mouth. “She is an.. interesting dancer.”

“Oh, she really was. I saw you two, twirling around like a pair of lovers.”

Caleb ducks his head. “It was nothing like that,” he mutters.

“Joking, joking. She’s definitely into Fjord, anyway.”

“ _Ja,_ that much is obvious.”

Since Mollymauk cheated on his last question, Caleb figures he has free reign to cheat on his next one. “Never have I ever had a threesome with.. paid company.”

“You can say hookers, Caleb. It’s all right.” Mollymauk takes the statement in stride and drinks, eyes keened to Caleb’s face, glinting. “Have you been with _any_ hookers?”

“No,” Caleb huffs, flushing. “No, of course not.”

“Why not? It’s fun. They’re a good time. There’s no shame in it.”

“I am not – I have never – I am more interested in.. other people.”

“Oh? What sorts of people might those be?” Mollymauk coos, brows raised inquisitively. “Do you have a type?”

 _Handsome, purple, tattooed tieflings,_ Caleb thinks. “Yes. No. It does not matter,” he stutters out. 

Mollymauk takes his embarrassment in stride, doesn’t press the question further. He’s good like that – he’s always good like that. Reading other people. Knowing when a push is needed, when a step back might work better. The longer they’ve travelled together, the more Caleb has realized that a lot of the suave showman front he puts up is bluff and bluster, but Mollymauk has an incredible amount of empathy for someone that has lived such a short life thus far. 

Dark lips purse in thought and Molly’s tongue darts out to wet his lips, lick off what alcohol remains from his last drink. He hums a drawn-out _hmm_ and stares at Caleb, hazy red eyes through dark lashes. “Never have I ever––” he begins, then pauses, as if momentarily uncertain of whatever question he’s about to ask. “Never have I ever been in love.”

The question hollows Caleb. His fingers tighten around the neck of his bottle and he stares down at them, traces his grime-caked nails with his eyes and watches the way the soft tremors of his clenched hands make the dark liquor within lap at the sides of its glass confine. Whatever warmth Mollymauk’s presence and words and ringing laughter has coaxed from within Caleb over their game’s course, like a small, tinderling blaze, is sapped from him. Seven words leave him numb and empty and cold inside. 

Lips against glass, he tilts the neck of the bottle heavensward, takes a long draw, and the memory of his once-love and the nights they’d drink and talk and laugh just like this comes to him, unbidden, from where he’d smothered it. The liquor goes down smooth. 

Molly’s eyes are narrowed when Caleb meets them, brows drawn, lips poised with the unavoidable _who_ and _when_ and _what happened_ upon them.

“Once,” Caleb murmurs. The bottle settles back in his lap, into the crook of a bent leg. “Only once. A lifetime ago.”

“Do you still love them?”

It’s not a question Caleb expects; it catches him off-guard, and he considers it, mulls over the words. There’s a small, secret sliver of his broken mind that will always belong to her. It isn’t a _maybe_ , but a certainty. His first, his last, his only love, as much as he privately wishes to know Mollymauk like a lover. 

“I.. think I do, yes,” Caleb replies, slow, careful. Mollymauk’s eyes drop from his, and Caleb watches him fiddle with a ring on one of his fingers. He draws in a long breath. “I think I always will. But it is not –– I... am more in love with the memory of them.”

“There’s been nobody since?”

“No.” Caleb’s lips quirk upwards in a small, sad smile. “No, there has been nobody else. I do not think there ever will be. I am not exactly a –– ah, what’s the word? A _catch_.”

“Not a catch?” Mollymauk echoes, brow raised. “Caleb, you think too little of yourself.”

“You think more than you should of me.”

“I think plenty of you.” Molly taps an idle rhythm on the side of his bottle, nails _clink_ , _clink_ , _clink_ ing on the glass in a way that sounds oddly like the melody Kiri’s music box played. “You occupy my thoughts quite often, in fact, for someone who goes to great lengths to keep attention away from himself. And I think you a better man than _you_ seem to think you are, Mister Caleb.” He draws out the syllables of Caleb’s name, rolls them off his tongue in a leisurely manner. 

Caleb ducks his head, feeling awkward in the face of praise freely given by the man from whom he has, these past few weeks, most wanted it. “You would not think so highly of me if you knew the things that I have done.”

“To be frank, my dear, I don’t give a shit about what you’ve done or where you came from,” Mollymauk says. “All that matters to me is the man you are now and the choices you make, not the ones you’ve made.”

“The choices I have made shaped the man I am now.”

“Caleb, there are people in the world that have done far, _far_ worse than anything you might have done or will likely ever do.” A hand comes to rest on Caleb’s knee – tentative, like Mollymauk is testing the waters, making sure Caleb is comfortable with the comforting gesture. “And I’m not trying to disregard any trauma you went through. I just want you to know that whatever you did – it’s a part of you, and I accept that, but past is past. I prefer to look to the future.” 

He flashes a fanged smile at Caleb, and Caleb just stares at him and blinks. Because he’d never dreamed it possible, after all that he has done, the person he has become, for three people to see his scars and accept him despite. Nott – kind, brave Nott, the first and forever the foremost. Beauregard. And, now, Mollymauk. Three people, in a reality he hasn’t even shaped by his own hand. And for the first time in a long, long time, he feels a small flicker of hope for the future. 

“That is– I’m v– you are––” he stumbles through his words, unsure of what to say. Caleb exhales, slows his thoughts, decides on something simple. “Thank you, Mollymauk.”

Molly’s thumb rubs soothing circles into the side of his knee, hand still resting there. “Think nothing of it. I’m always here for you if you want to talk. And even if you don’t ever feel like talking, I’ll still be around. My shoulder is always available for you to lean on.”

As if to emphasize his point, one of Mollymauk’s arms slips slowly around Caleb’s shoulders, coaxing him closer. It’s tentative, just as the hand on his knee was, allowing for Caleb to lean away if so desired, to reject the physical contact with no questions asked. But Caleb doesn’t; instead, he leans in, presses himself against Mollymauk’s warm side and lays his head upon Molly’s proffered shoulder. 

A trinket dangling from one of Mollymauk’s horns tickles his temple, alcohol and the body beside him flush his cheeks a warm red, and everything is still and silent and it feels, for a moment, like the first time he fell in love all over again. It’s nothing dramatic, nothing like the roaring of blood in the ears and the fast-pumping hearts that some of his more romantically-inclined novels describe; it’s quiet and soft, like adding kindling to a slowly-blossoming fire that he knows has been simmering within his heart. So, he leans into Mollymauk, rests his eyes for a bit and enjoys the hand that cards soothingly through his hair and rubs his neck, and allows that flame inside himself to grow; because, for once, it’s a _good_ flame.

They sit, a lapse of comfortable silence between them, Mollymauk contenting himself to play with Caleb’s hair and Caleb contenting himself with thinking about Mollymauk. A part of him wonders how their private evening together hasn’t yet been invaded by Nott, sloshed, coming to bed. He supposes he should be thankful that nobody _has_ come to disturb them.

Molly is the first to break their quiet reverie, nails tapping the side of his bottle once more. “Never have I ever,” he begins, the arm around Caleb’s shoulder pulling him back, allowing Molly to gaze down at him, eyes half-lidded, “wanted to kiss anyone as much as I do right now.”

Caleb’s first reaction, as it is in many social situations that are unbearably awkward or uncomfortable or _what-the-fuck_ to him, is to freeze, mouth agape. 

His fingers tighten around the neck of his bottle, and he notices the shift in Mollymauk’s features from warm and confident to unsure, a furrow appearing between his brows, awaiting a reaction. Caleb swallows, gathers himself, raises the bottle to his lips, and takes a swig of the liquor within. 

“You––” Molly begins, but Caleb cuts him off.

“I, ah, I have, _ja_. For a bit, now, actually.” His hand gravitates to the back of his neck, habitually rubbing it, anxious and picking his brain for the right words to phrase the confession he never thought he’d make, because he’d never dreamed Molly might reciprocate the feelings he’s been tucking away within himself. “Not – not someone else, though. Just you.”

“Why didn’t you say anything?”

Caleb stares at Mollymauk, deadpan, because after all of the time spent travelling together, he _knows_ Mollymauk knows just how terrible Caleb is at talking to people and expressing himself in social situations with anyone, save, perhaps, Nott. 

Mollymauk, ever-understanding, sees the look on Caleb’s face and nods slowly. “Ah. Right.” 

Silence extends between them, Caleb breaking Molly’s gaze and staring down at his hands. He doesn’t know what to say, because he’s rather.. out-of-practice in this field. Does he say what he feels? Tell Mollymauk how he wishes to call the tiefling _mine_ , and have it said to himself in turn? Thoughts flash a mile-a-minute through Caleb’s mind, what little self-confidence he has wavering; does he even _want_ Caleb in the same way Caleb wants him? Mollymauk is – will always be – a wild thing, untamable, and Caleb wonders if he’ll be left by the wayside when another person becomes the object of the tiefling’s fancies, the _mine_ fallen from his lips. Perhaps all Molly wants is a friend for a few good fucks, to indulge himself in the carnal and not the romantic so as not to disturb the currently-working dynamic of their group. He knows Molly isn’t a shallow person, would care for him and let him down easy at the end of it all, but it’s not what Caleb wants. All of these thoughts flicker in his head, and he inhales, breaks the expectant silence.

“You deserve better,” he murmurs. “Whatever it is you are seeking – you deserve it from someone better than I.”

“Caleb,” Mollymauk replies, his voice firm yet gentle. “I’ve told you that I think you’re a good man. And I know you’re used to not letting people get close, and this is probably uncharted territory for you, but – gods, sorry, I’m terrible at this, I’ve never done this and I’m trying _so_ hard not to fuck up my words right now – you don’t always have to be alone.”

Mollymauk curls his fingers around one of Caleb’s hands, and Caleb lets him, watching the way the low candlelight in the room casts dancing shadows over pale and purple skin. “I think _you_ deserve better than you think you do, and I’d like to.. try this out with you. If you’re comfortable with it. I’ll take as much of you as you’re willing to give me, and I’ll do my best to love you – that’s what I’m seeking.” 

Caleb doubts his words, doubts that he’ll ever deserve anything truly good in his life and doubts he’ll ever feel differently about the matter, but his stomach aches with some kind of happiness because Mollymauk is willing. Few people in Caleb’s life have ever been willing to do anything with him, to be with him, and Molly wants to. 

“I think,” Caleb begins, hesitant, tentatively lacing his fingers between Mollymauk’s, “I would like that very much. To, _ah_ , try this out with you, too.”

Mollymauk exhales heavily. “Gods, I was terrified you’d say no. That was so unbelievably nerve-wracking.”

“ _You_ were terrified?” Caleb can’t suppress the small chuckle that escapes from his lips. “I have wished I could say those words to you for weeks.”

“Of course I _bloody_ was! I’ve been myself for two years, in case you’ve forgotten; I mean, sure, I’ve fucked around, but I’ve never, y’know, _confessed_ to someone.”

A smile curves Caleb’s lips. “If it is any consolation, you are very good at it.”

“Really?”

“ _Ja._ Much better than I would have been.”

Mollymauk returns the smile. “Well, that’s good to hear, I s’pose.” His other hand sets his forgotten bottle aside and comes up to brush a lock of Caleb’s hair behind his ear, cupping his cheek. “If you’re open to it, I’d very much like to kiss you right now, Caleb Widogast.”

Caleb sets his own bottle aside, nods his head. “I would very much like to kiss you, too, Mollymauk Tealeaf.”

The hand on his cheek moves downward, catching Caleb’s chin between thumb and forefinger. Mollymauk leans in close and presses his lips to Caleb’s – soft, at first, a chaste testing of the waters, then harder. His mouth moves with experience, hand slides behind Caleb’s neck to card through his hair and tug his head back, allowing Mollymauk to take control and guide Caleb with swollen lips and gentle teeth. 

Mollymauk kisses him, bites him, whispers _mine_ in his ear, loves him, and the flame within Caleb burns bright.

**Author's Note:**

> my first foray into CritRole fic! I'm really enjoying this campaign so far and thought I'd try my hand at the characters and test the waters a bit with a more Caleb-focused piece. let me know what you thought, and thank you for reading! <3
> 
> you can find me on [twitter](https://twitter.com/feywilde) or [tumblr](http://kenway.tumblr.com/) – I'm always ready to yell about how good widomauk is
> 
> thank you so much to [bailey](https://twitter.com/starryarcana) for the illustration!!


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